


reaping the benefits

by soltian



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soltian/pseuds/soltian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor applies the proper amount of pressure at the correct moments to make time with each of his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voluminous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimmu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimmu/gifts), [mattatoio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattatoio/gifts).



“For all the apples in the orchard, my finest, dearest, _loveliest_ Volstagg, what is the harm in one kiss?”

“I have kissed your cheek and I have kissed your forehead, you brat,” Volstagg harumphed, his normally pink cheeks quite red with indignity. “Anything more would be quite against the nature of our love - I’ve practically raised you!” Thor sniggered, and managed to look stunning while doing so, golden threads of hair falling between his eyes and curling against his jaw. Volstagg the Valiant was the equal to many strange challenges, but this was - well - _flustering_. Thor was still half a boy on the inside, but this did not stop him from inhabiting the body of a man. A large, perfectly sculpted man with his thighs spread over his own wide lap as he sat against their crowded banquet table, fingers lovingly twirling in the (pridefully silky) strands of his beard. His other hand kept creeping southward, despite Volstagg’s continual deflection, though Thor seemed quite taken with the sensation of rubbing his palm against his friend’s soft belly, and was not yet too irritated with being denied anything lower.

A tap on his shoulder almost went unnoticed as he once again pawed back Thor’s searching muzzle as if attempting to train an irritating puppy, but after hearing an impatient a- _hem_ from a female voice behind him, he turned to face Brunhilde, and began sputtering at once, only to be silenced with a finger.

“Is he not your lord and regent, my love?” She asked sweetly, in the voice that either meant he was about to spend two weeks sleeping in the barn, or three days making love to her without stop. “Are you not sworn to honor his wishes? In this case, it seems he wishes you to take him to bed.”

Thor had escaped the hold of Volstagg’s defensive palm, and had nuzzled his way into the underside of his beard for the soft bit of skin on his throat. Volstagg let out a low whine in an attempt to reconcile both what he was feeling and what his wife was saying to him.

“Dearest, you are not _seriously_ suggesting-”

Thor made a pleased growl, and smirked up at Hilde through the strands of his own hair and Volstagg’s glossy beard.

“She should come too.”

Brunhilde laughed her pleasant, tinkling giggle, but it ended with a soft, dignified hiccup. Volstagg felt one squirming too many in his belly, and sighed in resignation. This was going to be difficult to explain to them both in the morning.


	2. Dashing

“ _Now_ I remember why I detest Nidavellir so,” Fandral sighed mournfully. He nursed his tankard and watched each of his friends enjoy themselves far more than he was. Hogun was engaged in a furious and complex game of hatchet-throwing against a team of no less than five dwarves, all of whom were sweating from the pressure he was putting them under. Volstagg was deep into a bet with a dwarf who was, impressively, just as rotund as he, to see which between them would pay for the meal once unable to eat another bite. The landscape otherwise was frightfully unappealing - lumpy brown faces crusted over with scars, unkempt beards, and various mucuses were, unfortunately, not his drink of choice. Then, suddenly, he caught a glimpse of fine-spun gold out of the corner of his eye, a whisper of a red dress - he turned delightedly with his most charming smile to greet - 

“Ah,” he faltered, though his smile did not quite vanish. “Forgive me, Thor, I nearly took you for a lady.”

Thor raised an eyebrow over a smirk, and took the seat next to him, pushing a fresh tankard into his hands as he started on his own.

“I’m not sure that can be forgiven so easily, Fandral. Your manhood cannot be _this_ starved for company after only one evening away from Asgardian women.”

“I am not so picky as that! A dwarf wench would quite honor me with her presence, if one were to _appear_. This tavern is festering with nothing but stubby bearded grumps.”

“True,” Thor conceded, but then pointed to a scowling dwarf with a lined face and a thick red beard who was overhearing parts of their conversation a table over, “But if it’s wenches you want, I do think that one is a _female_ bearded grump.”

Fandral muttered _the norns have mercy_ under his breath before taking a deep drag from his mug in an attempt to break the steely line of sight between himself and the dwarf woman. When he looked up again, Thor thigh was pressed to his, and he had his arm around his shoulders.

“Cheer up,” he said “We’ll have a few more drinks, and then we’ll sing - the game will be to irritate Hogun enough that he misses his mark.”

Fandral's face brightened immediately. “Oh! I’ll do _Tawny the Three-Eared_ , he despises that one.”

\---

Fandral was still on verse seven of _Tawny_ as Thor stripped him out of his tunic, though they had somehow ended up in a small room with a bed instead of the tavern, and he had discovered a few lines ago that sucking on Thor’s earlobe was slightly more fun than singing.

“Just as well,” he giggled, as he put a finger in Thor’s mouth to watch him tug his glove off with glinting teeth, “You were the most beautiful creature in the room, for sure.”


	3. Grim

It’s been almost an hour, and Thor is still struggling.

Hogun’s arm is tempered steel and his palm is warm and dry against his own. Thor shifts, trying to break his grip, and his elbow slips minutely in a spill of mead on the wooden table. Hogun’s stillness vanishes, and he lunges, seizing the split second of instability - but Thor pushes back, every cord and vein in his arm bulging with the effort, and shakily forces Hogun’s hand upright again - then further - a little further - he catches a glint of light in Hogun’s eye and sees his jaw flex, the briefest flash of white teeth beneath his dark moustache when he lets out a near inaudible _ah_ just before Thor slams his knuckles to the table. 

The previously silent tavern around them finally erupts with cheers and congratulations on both sides - “ _You had us worried!_ ” for Thor and “ _A battle well fought!_ ” for his new friend (even though it is a bit _too_ impressive, since he lacked Asgardian lineage). Thor cheers and smiles with all his well wishers, and Hogun looks moody. Not sulking, exactly. Brooding.

“Your winnings?” he asks, subtly rubbing what must be his very sore wrist beneath the table.

Thor’s grin brightens even further - he might have actually sprained something himself.

“A drink,” he answers easily, “And your company on my next hunt. I’ll need the extra help now that you’ve crippled my arm.”

Hogun grunts, but under the heavy canvas of what seems to be a permanent scowl, Thor suspects he’s just a little pleased.

\---

“Because you chose the sport last time,” Hogun says as he holds a bow and one arrow out to Thor, another set for himself. This is his way of explaining that they are about to have an archery contest.

“And what will my winnings be?” Thor agrees with a smile as he follows him to the target range.

“One secret.” 

When Hogun won, he demanded to know (a bit scarlet-cheeked) how Thor had won favor with the lady Sif.

\---

They kept score back and forth over years, and also sparred many times without placing bets. One day, Thor was feeling particular ire after a fight with his brother, so he drew his sword against Hogun and demanded stakes, winning them with unpredictable, sloppy blows. He claimed Hogun’s favorite mace in victory, and pretended not to notice his friend’s hard, cold eyes when he handed it over.

The next morning Hogun challenged him to a hunting competition. Thor forfeited before noon, since his uncoordinated thrashing through the forest was scaring away all the game.

“Did you bring it with you?” Hogun asked, with a little more than his usual scowl. Thor _had_ brought the mace along, and unstrapped it from his saddlebag to hand back to its rightful owner. They stood in tense silence for a few moments before Hogun put his hand firmly on Thor’s shoulder, and held his eyes.

“Thor. I may not say much, but I will listen.”

Thor found himself suddenly able to laugh again, and did so with gusto, grabbing Hogun around the neck and kissing him on the cheek.

“I can’t honestly remember what I was holding in. Let’s have a drink.”

\---

Neither of them remembered who started the drinking contest, let alone who won. Hogun claimed adamantly not to remember much at all. Thor warmly (and privately) remembered blunt teeth, warm scars, and that Hogun purred like a cat when he licked his vibrating throat. 


End file.
